Maybe our conversations aren’t so interesting or compelling after all. You’re hand draws empty illustrations, without color to give a personal sense of who are you or where you’re going. And after all, there’s not much to score in the personal strive of your gaining.
What flow is this mix aiming for?
My days are spent outside, as soon as the thought merges in me, I knew I wasn’t going to make it after-all. I caved in I begin to ask what is worth voting for? What does it stand and maybe yet, what can it mean to me? Not much I believe. There’s not a care in the world for the statutes out of my reach.
I’ve filled my days with an inescapable anxiety.